


Danger Pay

by Aliana



Series: Do No Harm [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anachronistic, Gen, Gondor, Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliana/pseuds/Aliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's T.A. 3016, and (some) girls just wanna have fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal in January, 2012. A prequel to [Fallen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/364151/chapters/591380).

Friday is Drill Day. The Lockdown Alarm sounds, at which the dispensary workers bolt the doors from the inside, turn off the lights, and crouch behind the counters until someone comes along to give them the all-clear. In other parts of the Houses, surgeons bolt their surgeries and sit beneath operating tables. Laundresses duck, Elloth can only presume, behind their industrial-strength tubs and rollers, unmoving amidst steam and soap bubbles.

She huddles with her back against a shelf; it's uncomfortable, but she doesn't move, for fear of upsetting glass vials and microscope slides.

"This is silly," she whispers to Anneth, one of the other apprentices. Anneth says nothing, but Elloth thinks she can see her nod in the dark. "This is not helpful at all," she continues. No matter whether the lights are on or off, no matter how many bolted doors and pieces of furniture they put between themselves and the Enemy, dead is dead when Mordor comes, and there's no way around it.

"Shhh!"

She can't tell who that is, but she can only assume it's one of the matrons who are in charge of supervising the teenagers. So she shushes up and closes her eyes and tilts her head back ever so slightly so as not to upset the bottles behind her. She thinks about how she'll do her hair tomorrow. No long braids or dangling ponytails, of course. That's a safety hazard. Still, they get a lot of leeway there. Then she thinks about what she's going to wear the next time she's not on Dress Code--in her case, this weekend. She considers her fingernails and whether they need to be filed and polished again. Clear, of course.

So, that's Lockdown.

Emergency Response Drills are much more fun. Everyone has a designated meeting point with a designated supervisor and triage stations. There's a lot of shoes squeaking on linoleum, gurney-pushing, loading up the appropriate vials into carts, a lot of brusque, measured yelling and stopwatches clicking on and off. In the event of an actual Emergency Response situation, the Herb-master has assigned her the role of assistant south ward dispensary supervisor, of which she is proud. She saw a few of the other apprentices glance at one another with raised eyebrows when that was announced.

But Elloth doesn't mind. They're just jealous because she is the best at her job, and because her hair is nicer.

***

After they are permitted to stand up and turn on the lights, cursing and shaking out limbs that have fallen asleep, the Warden gathers everyone in the atrium for a review.

He says, "I understand that the drills can seem an imposition on your time, but I assure you they are not. They are much-needed practice."

He doesn't say what for.

"We've greatly improved our Lockdown response time, but we're still not quite not up to City mandate standards. Can't let those fools at the Post Office beat us, can we?"

This is probably supposed to be funny, but no one laughs.

"Please be advised that next weekend, we, along with all other pertinent organizations, will be participating in an Overnight Drill." Poorly suppressed groans. "People, this is just what happens. This is what you all signed up for. Be prepared to stay in the Houses from Friday evening until Sunday morning, in simulation of a Partial-Evacuation Siege Event."

"What's wrong with you?" one of the other girls asks Elloth as the crowd disperses. Say what you want about Elloth, but she smiles a lot more than most girls around here. Not now, though.

"Next weekend is my birthday."

"Bad luck! Maybe we can do something afterwards?"

"It's my sixteenth birthday!"

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. Sweet Partial-Evacuation Siege Event Sixteen."

"Well, there are worse things."

"Like what?" Elloth demands.

Narrator regards Elloth for a moment. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Tell me what could be worse than having your sixteenth birthday taken over by a Partial-Evacuation Siege Event Overnight Drill."

"Well." Narrator pauses before counting off on her fingers. "Leprosy. Cholera. Dysentery."

"That doesn't count."

"What do you mean diseases don't count?"

"They just don't."

"Okay." She starts counting again. "Having a broken collarbone. Bedsores. Having a useless alcoholic for a father. Getting your intestines ripped out by orcs..."

"You're disgusting."

"You're ridiculous." And with that, Narrator turns and walks away.

"Does this mean you don't want to celebrate my birthday with me?"

No answer. Her hair isn't as nice as Elloth's, anyway. Not enough volume.

***

Elloth stares at her Evac form. The top sheet is white, with a pink carbon and a yellow carbon underneath. They handed them out last week, to all of the teenagers and the little message-boys. "In case of a Partial Evacuation Event," the form explains, "minor children employed by the Houses of Healing in a medical and/or communications capacity require the express permission of a parent or guardian to remain on premises."

She prints her name in black pen, all block capitals as the instructions say, pauses wistfully at the blanks for her date of birth. She isn't sure what she wants to do about this, yet, but at dinner on Saturday she brings it up just in case.

"So, there's this form," she begins. "And they want parents to sign it, for the kids in the Houses. In case there's an evacuation."

"There won't be an evacuation," her father says immediately, sawing away at his veal cutlet. "Why are they having you bother with all this nonsense?"

"Don't be silly, Elly," says her mother. "You wouldn't want to stay here. It'd be awful. You'd come with me, wouldn't you?"

"I…would, probably." Elloth stares at her plate, prods her mashed potatoes with her fork. "But, you know, the herb-master made me a supervisor and all. I might want to help out."

"We know, sweetie," her dad says. "And we're very proud of you. But you don't need to think about that right now."

"But just in case, maybe you could look at the form with me?"

"I don't see why they even need to bother with that," says her mom. "As if any parent would sign such a thing."

"I think Narrator's mom might," says Elloth. "She works in the Houses, too. She knows what it's about."

Elloth's mom takes a drink of water. "Well, she is a dear woman," she says. "And that is her decision. She's also a widow, so for all we know, she's got different priorities than—"

"Muffin, please, that's hardly necessary," her dad interrupts.

After that they are all silent for a few minutes, until Elloth's mom asks her, "Do you know what you want for your birthday this year?"

"I don't know," Elloth says. "I'll have to think about it some more."

"One-six," her dad says. "That's a big one."

"Sure is," says Elloth. She excuses herself early to clean up the kitchen. In the morning, she leaves the Evac form on the table with a note:

Dear Mom and Dad, here's the form we talked about. I know we haven't decided yet, but if you could look at it and sign it just in case, that would be great. Love, Ell.

***

On Monday after work, Elloth and some of the other girls from the Houses go down to the fields to watch the City infantry guys practice sword fighting, which is always fun. Today, however, they seem to be finished with their drills for the time being. Instead, they've got a couple of pickup football games going, which are also fine to watch. The girls find a place along the sidelines and sit down on the grass.

"Okay, my turn," Elloth says. "Narrator, which one do you think is cuter, the goalkeeper, or the striker?"

"Shirts or skins?" asks Narrator, already looking bored.

"Skins! Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Honestly, with those haircuts they all look pretty much the same to me."

"Are you blind?" Elloth demands.

"Anyway, I don't see what the big deal with guys is."

"I…don't…see…what…?" Elloth repeats, unbelieving, as if attempting to decipher some cryptic utterance. Narrator rips up a clump of grass and throws it at her. "Hey!"

"Have you guys talked to your parents about the Evac forms yet?" Tuilin asks. Already a caffeine addict at fifteen, she's clutching a thermos of extra-strong tea.

Narrator nods. "I think my mom will sign off for me."

"That's cool," Anneth puts in. "I'm not even sure if I'd want to stay yet, though."

"Me, neither," Narrator replies. "But we don't have to decide right now. It's just to get permission. When…I mean, if there comes a time when we have to decide, we might be too old to need those forms, at all."

"Yeah," Anneth nods.

"Or we might not," says Elloth.

"I hear that if we stay," Anneth says, "we'll get really good danger pay. Like, really, really good."

"Yeah, and what are you gonna spend it on, in a war zone? Or when you're dead?" asks Tuilin.

"Just saying," Anneth shrugs.

"Hey." The cute striker from the Skins side is standing over them, smiling. "This match is getting sort of crazy. Is one of you girls a decent ref?"

The girls look at each other, flustered, giggling. Then Narrator points at Elloth and says, "She is."

"Yeah?" asks the striker.

Elloth looks at the others girls. "Yeah," she says, and she stands up.

And she is a good ref. No one argues with her calls, and she shows no bias whatsoever. Not even for the very, very cute players.

***

When she gets home, the form and the note are just where she left them on the table. Blank. And they remain so, the next day and the next, and the day after that.

***  
On the Friday of the Big Drill, as they've all taken to calling to it, they take up their usual Emergency Response positions. For most of the time, they don't actually have too much to do; it's mainly a martial exercise, it turns out. Starting all the way down at the Rammas Echor and the Great Gate, the various City companies practice retreat strategies, scrambling up to the higher circles, holding the entrances. In the Houses, they can hear it all over the radios that the Ward Supervisors carry. The captains' voices are sharp and staccato as Morse code, punctuating the static drone that signifies an open channel.

"This is M.T. Infantry Six, falling back. Second Circle is down, repeat, Second Circle is down."

"Copy that, M.T. Six, secure the gates."

They wait for the inevitable progression.

"M.T. Infantry Four, falling back now. Third Circle is breached."

Static.

"Citadel Guard Reserves One. Fourth Circle is down."

And then they hear it: "This is Citadel Guard, Alpha Company. Sixth Circle is breached, falling back to secure the Houses. Repeat, falling back to the Houses."

A few seconds later, the atrium doors creak open, and one of those last remaining companies of Guardsmen enter, in full uniform. Elloth recognizes the striker from the other day, maybe the goalkeeper. Hands at their sword hilts, no expressions on their faces. The white trees emblazoned on their surcoats look like ribcages, something meant to cradle hearts and lungs.

"What now?" Elloth whispers to Narrator, who is standing beside her. The Guardsmen's commander is shouting orders to his troops. "Do we fall back, too?"

"I don't know," says Narrator.

But then they have their answer: the alarm bell sounds. The drill is over.

***

That night, as part of the simulation, the workers sleep in storerooms which have been crammed with an assortment of cots and bunk beds. Elloth stays awake, pushing the illuminator button on her watch from time to time. When it's nearly midnight, she leans over the edge of her mattress and stares down to the bottom bunk.

"Wake up!" she hisses.

"Huh?" Narrator sits up with a start, nearly hits her head on the low bedframe.

"I said, wake up! We have to get out of here."

Narrator rolls over so that she's got her face to the wall. "Leave me alone."

"It is nearly my sixteenth birthday. We have to get out of here."

"It's not allowed."

"I absolutely do not care."

Narrator sighs. Elloth can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Look," Elloth says. "It's my birthday. We have to do what I want. On your birthday, we can do whatever you want."

Nothing.

"Please?"

Silence. Then, "Ugh. Fine. Just don't keep me up too long."

Elloth carefully climbs down from her bunk. They put on sweaters over their pajamas, step over the women who are sleeping on pallets on the floor, and open and shut the storeroom door with excruciating slowness.

They go outside, to the gardens. The City is dark and quiet tonight, only a few torches burning. Lockdown.

"So what do you want to do?" Narrator asks.

"I don't know," Elloth murmurs. The silence has cowed her a little bit. She feels very small. Then: "Let's go and sit on the wall, at least."

So they do, peering down through the dark at the circles spread out below them.

"Sometimes, I think it looks like a big cake," Elloth says.

"Yeah. Just waiting to get sliced open."

"Happy birthday to me."

"Happy birthday, Ell," says Narrator, and her voice is suddenly gentle.

"Thanks," Elloth smiles. "Hey, look what I've got." She reaches into the pocket of her sweatshirt and brings out a large silver-colored flask, holds it up by the neck. "Pelargir single-malt whiskey, fifteen years old. Same age as you, one year younger than me as of today."

"Ha! Where'd you get that?"

"Where'd you think?" Elloth unscrews the top, takes a healthy swig, coughs a little bit. Her eyes water, but it's not a bad sensation. "Dad doesn't lock his liquor cabinet."

"Won't he notice?"

"Naw. He's got a bunch of these, I think. They're all just collecting dust." She holds the flask out.

Narrator shakes her head. "I don't touch that stuff."

"Oh, come on. It's my birthday." Narrator still doesn't take the flask. "You're just chicken," Elloth says. "You're such a goody two shoes."

"I'm not, I just don't drink."

"Ninny. Mama's girl."

"Fine!" Narrator seizes the flask and takes a drink. She swallows, grimaces, and coughs at considerably greater length than Elloth did.

"That's what I like to see," Elloth grins.

"That's, um." Narrator wipes her mouth on her sleeve, hands the whisky back to Elloth. "That's kind of gross."

"But it's kind of good, too, right?" Elloth takes another drink.

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know." Narrator reaches into the pocket of her pajamas and takes out a small, narrow box. "Hey, I got you something. It's kind of dumb. I was just going to give it to you tomorrow, but now is better."

"Really? That's so sweet. You didn't have to."

"Well, you only turn sixteen once, right?"

Elloth pushes the illuminator button on her watch so she can see what she's doing, a little bit. Inside the box is a pen, its outer casing cool and smooth like her father's flask.

"See, it's got a little mortar and pestle on it. The Herbalists' Guild symbol." Narrator turns the pen in Elloth's fingers so she can see. "You're a supervisor, so I figure you can sign prescriptions now, or whatever."

"Narrator!" Elloth leans over and throws her arms around the other girl, almost upsetting both of their perches on the wall. It's the whisky talking, a little bit, but mostly it's just her. "That is the sweetest thing! I love it."

"Whoa, uh--" Narrator struggles momentarily to keep upright. "Glad you like it."

"Have another drink."

They pass the flask back and forth between them until it's nearly empty. Only then does Elloth turn her head and look out beyond the lower circles, over the field and across the river. Out east. She can't really see the Shadow from here, but she doesn't have to. She can imagine it just as well.

"They," she begins, the beginning sound of the word drawn just slightly out in a hint of a slur, "are mocking us." She jabs her index finger in that direction for emphasis, in case Narrator missed her point. "Mordor is mocking us. They're just…they're out there, you know. Mocking us. With their presence, and stuff."

"Of course they're mocking us. They're Evil."

"Well, I, for one, am fucking sick of it. Sick of it!" Elloth raises the flask, though she's not sure what she's toasting, and then drains the remainder of the liquor.

"You think everyone else isn't…sick of it, too?"

"I know, but…you know, I really like this pen. No, I really do. I love it. But…you know what I really, really want for my birthday?"

"The whole Sixth Infantry football squad?" Narrator is giggling now.

"No, I mean. Well. Even more."

"What's that?"

"A life. A real fucking life."

"What? You're alive, aren't you?"

"This," says Elloth, "is not a real life. Hiding behind tables. Shutting off the lights. Bolting the door. This is…this is something, all right, but it isn't a real life." And as she says this, sober in her drunkenness, it is as if she were understanding it for the very first time. "It's…something else."

Narrator shuts her eyes, tilts her head back as if in contemplation. "I, ah. I don't know what to say to that."

"I do," says Elloth, and all of a sudden she stands up on the wall. The City sways, but she keeps her balance. She faces east.  
"FUCK YOU!" she yells at the top of her voice. The words echo against the ancient stone. "FUCK ALL OF YOU, BASTARDS."

"Jesus, Elloth!" Narrator hisses. "You're gonna wake up the whole City."

"Good. I DON'T FUCKING CARE." She turns back to Narrator. "You should try this. This is amazing!"

"I'll, uh, think I'll stay down here, thanks."

"Just try it!"

"No."

"It is MY BIRTHDAY and you have to do WHATEVER I SAY."

"I don't think I—"

"Ninny."

"Okay, FINE." And she stands up and cups her hands to her mouth. "Fuck you!"

"Louder."

"GO TO HELL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

"MOTHERFUCKERS!"

"WE FUCKING HATE YOU!"

"FUCK YOU!"

The two girls' voices bounce over and over against the walls of the gardens and Houses, and then down below. They shout over and over into the night, and get absolutely nothing back but reverberations, each one a little weaker than the last.

Finally, a voice from below: "The HELL is going on up there?"

"Shit!" Elloth squeals, and they scramble ungracefully off the wall and dash, giggling and hoarse, back inside. The City is silent once more.

***

Elloth comes back home on Sunday morning. Her parents have left a large bunch of flowers on the table, along with a card that reads "16" in large enthusiastic letters. Her Evac form is still there, blank; the only difference is that it's been relegated to the far corner, along with the bills and the junk mail.

She stares at the bouquet for a long moment, goes over and inhales the flowers' scent. They're beautiful. Then she looks back at her form.

Fine, then.

She pulls her new pen out of her pocket and goes over to the corner of the table. Very carefully, she fills out her complete information: date of birth, emergency contacts, next of kin, being sure to press hard so that her writing goes through the original and both carbons. Then, in one of the blanks at the bottom of the paper, she forges her father's signature. She considers her work for a few moments, then forges her mother's signature in the other blank for good measure. She folds it all up and puts it in her pocket. She will tell her parents she tore it up, that she didn't want to stay. They will believe her. She is a good girl.

She is sixteen years old, and boys like her, and she is the assistant south ward dispensary supervisor. She has a pilfered flask in her pocket; she makes good calls in pickup football matches, and furthermore, she is pretty sure that she has the nicest hair of any of the girls in the Houses. And even if this is not her real life, if this is some acrid-sweet chemical substitute, then by God she will stay here until she tastes the last gasp of it.

And maybe that one will be different: the men charging into the atrium will be the real thing, falling back into the last empty space. Ladies and gentlemen, remember your training. This is not a drill.


End file.
